


i just like hanging out with you all the time

by rumpledlinen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of disconnected stories about Harry and Taylor (featuring: a proposal, babysitting, having <i>an actual baby</i>, and domesticity).</p>
            </blockquote>





	i just like hanging out with you all the time

**Author's Note:**

> this is all samantha's fault. this is for her because she kept TALKING TO ME about harry and taylor one night. (ALSO saskia, because she was the one to get me into haylor in the first place.)
> 
> disclaimer: not real (except that it _might be_ ). harry and taylor are just the power couple of my heart. imagine swift/styles babies, man oh MAN. title from _stay, stay, stay_ by ms. swift.

“I don’t want a public proposal,” she tells him, licking her ice cream almost delicately.

He turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

She nods and angles her body so it’s away from the cameras flashing at them; they’re both sick to death of paps, of always, _always_ being on. She wipes at the corners of her mouth, smiling. “Like—I want it to be _real_ , you know? I don’t want to have to put on a show when someone’s asking me if I want to marry them.” She shrugs; it seems significant, the way she's carrying herself taut, like she's on a live wire.

He grins at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and taking a bite out of her ice cream. "I'll keep that in mind," he tells her, mouth full, and kisses the side of her neck. She giggles, delighted and scandalized, twisting away from him. “Harry!”

He shrugs, and presses a cold kiss to her cheek. “Mmmm,” he breathes. She twists away from him, attempting to look stern. With her ice cream and pink lipstick, though, she just looks unbearably _cute_.

“I love you,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s said it—they’re both people who love too big, too brightly, too _fast_ , and they’d said it after a week, whispered between stolen kisses in the hazy days before anyone found out about them—but she still melts, tilting her head at him and giving him a soft smile.

“I love you, too,” she says. She bites her lip. Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell her about the lipstick on the bottom of her tooth. (Later, it’ll be the biggest detail he can remember, that little dot of pink. He remembers weird things, with her.)

She doesn’t bring up marriage again, and neither does he. They’ve only been dating a year, after all; they’ve gotten past the cheating rumors (both hers and his), the analyzing of every one of her songs (they took a break, a month in, and the papers went _insane_ ; and what no one seems to get now is that you can write a sad song while being the happiest you've ever been), both of their tours, and now—it’s comfortable, what they have.

He kisses the top of her head and wraps his arm around her. “Want to head back?” he asks, mumbles into her hair.

She smiles up at him and nods, lacing her fingers with his, and hands her ice cream to him. She leans against him and he smiles, feeling happier than he has before.

 _I want to marry her_ , he thinks, and it just makes him feel—nice, like it’s a promise.

 

He asks Louis for advice.

Lou giggles like a fucking kid, of course he does, but he pats Harry's knee almost consolingly. "Scary, innit?" he asks, low. "I remember _my_ proposal, dear Harold..."

"Shove off," Harry says on a laugh, "it was Eleanor. She was always a sure thing."

Louis' face softens (because as much as he takes the piss out of Harry he's an absolute softie at heart) and he shrugs. "She was, wasn't she?" He shakes his head, claps his hands. "But this isn't about me and my incredibly sexy fiancée. This is about you, and _Taylor_."

Harry bites his lip, pulls the ring out of his pocket and looks at it. It's simple but elegant, just like her; there's a ring of pearls around the diamond in the middle. It looks like it belongs to an Old Hollywood starlet. "What if she says no?" he murmurs. He's never been one for melodrama, but he might actually die if she doesn't want to.

Louis smiles, moves so they're sitting next to one another. "Come on, give us a hug," he says, holding his arms out. Harry shifts into him, breathes out a contented sigh. "She won't say no," he tells Harry's hair. "She's mad for you too, babe."

"She is, isn't she?" Harry mumbles. He wipes at his eyes, not at all surreptitiously if the way Louis' chest shakes for a silent moment is any indication. "I just want it to be special."

Louis nods, rubbing Harry's back. "It will be," he says. "Now, if I were you, here's what I would do."

*

He takes her to Central Park, the ring box heavy in his pocket. She smiles at him around the straw of her frapuccino, giggles like she's five years old when she catches him looking. "What?" She's got lipstick smeared at the edge of her lip, all along her straw. He swallows, thick. The thing with Taylor, is that he wants to cuddle her and bake cookies with her and wear her aprons but he also wants to push her up against a counter and go down on her right there, her fingers tangled in his hair. It's a tough life.

He doesn't mention the lipstick, but he can't stop staring. He shrugs, bumps their hips together. "I just really love you," he murmurs, kissing her on the forehead. His hands go to her hips, swaying in place for a moment.

Her eyes shut and she breathes out. He just watches her. She's never more beautiful than up close, face not made up like when she's on stage. She's soft around him, features relaxed and delicate. (Being with her makes him think he's a poet, too, and then she says things and he's reminded how much better she is.)

Taylor takes a step back, hands him her drink. "Hold this a second?"

He takes it and watches as she -- fuck, as she gets down on one knee.

She grabs the hand not holding the drink and kisses each fingertip, not breaking eye contact. "Harry Styles," she says, voice high and caught on the edge of a laugh and nerves, "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else. You're smart, and charming, and you've -- gosh, you've stolen my heart. Will you marry me?" She pulls out a ring, silver and thick-banded, holds it up and only then can he see the nerves on her face.

Harry can't breathe for a moment. "I," he starts, sticks his hand in his pocket. "I was," he tells her, holds up the box. "Yes, of course, but --"

Her eyes go wide and then fill with tears. She holds a hand to her mouth. "Oh," she says, voice thick. "You want to marry me?" The sentence, heavy, is possibly the best thing Harry's ever heard.

Harry laughs, though his own voice is shaky. "Had to ask then," he murmurs, sliding the ring onto her finger and then taking his own. "Five minutes and I'd have asked."

"Selena said," she starts, and shakes her head, looks at her ring. "Fuck," she says. The word almost startles him. She bites her lip, shifts in her heels, stares him down. "So now you're my fiancé," she muses, trails her hand up his chest. "And I think before we tell anyone," and she leans in, has to bend down a little, "I need you to fuck me so hard I can barely breathe. Can you do that?"

Harry grins, kisses her wet and dirty right there in the park before he pulls her away. "I can do that," he promises.

Taylor giggles.

Fuck, he is _so_  in love with her.


End file.
